Jib Here - And I Love Her!

AND I LOVE HER

Jib here.

I love Mom. I really do. I always did. But she didn’t always know that. She knows it now.

A long time ago, Mom said, “Oh, Jibby, I love you so bad!” and something warm and furry turned over in my chest and I wanted to lick her and lean on her and I couldn’t stop smiling. I love her. I do.

And I love My Collie Mom, too, but that was a long time ago when my nose knew her scent before my eyes were open. I loved her milk and her licking and her soft breathing. And sometimes I still dream that I am warm and full and she is licking me. And when I dream this, I yip a little to keep my siblings away and have My Collie Mom all to myself.

But now I love Mom. I show her I love her all the time. When it’s light outside after Long Dark Sleepytime and Mom lets me out of my crate, I stretch at her feet to tell her I love her. I lean against her and kiss her arm to tell her I love her. I run between her legs to tell her I love her, too. And when she says, “Where’s my pony?” I run back between her legs the other way to tell her I love her. I love Mom. Especially at breakfast time.

I love Mom when she says it’s time for dessert and she opens my crate after chicken time and gives me the special treat I only get after chicken time. I love Mom when she throws my bouncy ball and keeps throwing it even when I am tired and feel like throwing up. I love Mom when she pulls a squeaky squirrel out of her pocket when I find Heel position without being asked. I love Mom when she throws Squeaky Squirrel for me to catch. I love Mom when her hand smells like liverwurst and she takes me to the dog park and makes me watch her instead of all the other dogs and gives me what is in her hand. I love liverwurst, too.

And I love Mom when I my tummy feels icky and I hork in my crate and yell for Mom. She always comes running and cleans up so I can lie back down and go to sleep until daylight. This happened once a long time ago, but I know if it happens tonight, she will come when I call. And she won’t make me skip breakfast, either, unless I hork more than once. Then I have to skip breakfast and my morning drink-of-water for a long, long time, and when I finally can drink again, Mom only lets me have a tiny bit and I have to wait for breakfast until Sailor and Zoe get supper. But I love her anyway.

And I love Sailor. He is old and wise and doesn’t yell at me any more when I try to lick his lips. He just turns his face away and I am happy. This means I don’t have to take over for him and make decisions I can’t decide and go places I don’t want to go. Like the bath tub.

Sailor is fun to play with when he makes me run, but he doesn’t run much himself. He just starts to run, and when I take off and run across the lawn and down the fence line and when I turn and run down the other fence line and when I keep running and look behind me, he is just standing on the grass with his tongue hanging out. Is he laughing at me? I am not close enough to hear.

I love Zoe, too. She runs more than Sailor even though she is older than he is. Mom says Zoe is twelve-going-on-puppy. She will run with me, but then she stops and I keep on running down the fence line and when I turn around, she is prancing on the lawn, laughing at me. I don’t have to hear her laugh to know she is laughing. I can see it in her feet.

Zoe never told me off when I was a puppy. Not once. She just turned away and ignored me when I jumped in her face and tried to pull her collar off. And if I got too obnoxious, she gave me The Eye. But she never yelled at me or booped me with her nose. Never.

Mom says Zoe is the most tolerant of dogs. Whatever that means. Zoe treats the human puppies like she treats me, but is much better at getting away from them than she ever was from me. I am hard to get away from. My feet are fast.

I love Leisl the Leonberger. She runs with me and chases me and I chase her and her Mom gives me treats if I sit when she commands. Leisl likes to come over to romp and to eat the cat-pee plant and to get in trouble. She likes to warn me that my toys are now Her Toys and I can’t have them. But I can have them. I just have to give her The Eye and not back down, and she lets go. I love Leisl, she is fun.

And I love the bouncy Poodle down the block. Mom says he is everybody’s favorite uncle and would get me in trouble if he could. He would do naughty things and teach me to be naughty. He would bark and bark to tease me into jumping at the end of my leash and then he would just stand there while Mom scolds me. When Mom and I are out walking and we see Bouncy Poodle, she tightens the leash and says, “Here comes Trouble.” But his name isn’t Trouble. It should be, though. Instead of me.

But best of all I love Mom. Even when she is not perfect and doesn’t feed me when my tummy says it’s tummy time. Even when she is not perfect and takes away her yummy pen, and says Leave It! when we’re out on walks, and forgets to refill my water bowl every two minutes with cool water. Even when she is not perfect and makes me watch her instead of watching the dog across the street or the squirrel in the tree, I love her. And even when she tells Sailor that she loves him the best, I love Mom. Because I know she really loves me the best.

When she is lying on the couch, I like to come and lay my head on her chest and listen to her soft breathing. She would be perfect if she had milk and licking.

Happy birthday to Me!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Sailor here. Today is my birthday, according to my pedigree and to my Mom. She says it’s really the anniversary of my birthday because I only had one real birthday and that was ten years ago. In human years, that is, not in dog years.

Mom says that if you count 10.5 dog years per human year for the first 2 years, then 4 dog years per human year for each year after, this makes me 53. If the first year of my life was about the first fifteen years for a human and if the first two years were equal to twenty-four human years, and after that, if each year is equivalent to four years, than I am 56 in Mom years. Another place on the Internet told Mom that is I weigh between 51 and 90 lbs. (and I do), I am 66!

So which is it?

Who cares? I feel young! I run in the backyard chasing Jib and squirrels and barking at the mailman through the fence. I run many, many agility courses at class and a few more at home. I eat like there’s no tomorrow and I remember eating like this since my puppy days. I still bark and jump when Mom comes home, but I don’t jump on Mom any more. I jump next to her. And I taught Jibby to do this, too.

I am young! Except a little bit when I take a nap at night and have to stand up when I wake up and my legs are a little stiff for the first step or two. Zoe is like this, too, in the morning, and she’s even older than me. She is twelve in Mom years and too many for me to count in dog years.

I am young! My digestion is as good as it’s always been, but most dog cookies that crunch make my eyes run. I only used to get goopy eyes from wheat, but Mom says that my Moon System is not so young any more, so my eyes run with grains. I don’t ever remember running with grains. I run with Zoe and Jib and with Mom at agility, but not with grains.

I am young, but I have matured, too. I no longer gnash my teeth when Mom says things that confuzle me. Like the grain thing. I just smile and pant and let it all roll off my back like a light rain. And the best part about this is that I never get my face wet.

I have matured. I have finally learned to love heeling at Dog School and retrieving my dumbbell and jumping over the broad jump. And I never wake up stiff after this.

I have matured. I don’t bark hysterically when the doorbell rings. I let Jib do this for me. Mom says that I may be getting a little hard of hearing, like Zoe who has to be within ten feet of Mom when she calls her for supper. But when Mom whispers, “Cookie,” or opens a bag of potato chips and I am in the other room or down the hall, I can hear just fine. Then I come running. You never know….

I have matured. And I am still young in my heart. Mom says I awake to each day like it was my first. And she says that I am blessed because I don’t know that one day, that day will be my last.
Huh?

I think I will let this roll off my back like the summer rain.

Rally Advanced/Excellent

Sailor here.

Mom says I have a new title. She says it’s the AKC RAE title. I had to do two things ten times. But actually I did a LOT of things many more times than ten times, more even than twenty toes and several dewclaws worth. So although I can’t count high enough, I have a new title.

Now I like titles, I do, but my new one? RAE? I mean, what is this? I think I would like the title Duke, or Earl, or even Prince. Or King. That’s it! King! I’d love to be a King.

Then I could get cookies whenever I want and go for walkies whenever I want and sleep on any dog bed I want even if Jib wants it, too. He can be Mister or Sir or something, but I want to be King!

And what does this RAE get me, anyway? Huh? Mom and I two green ribbons and a yellow ribbon and a blue ribbon and two coffee cups, but NO COOKIES. What good is that?

Bay Spaghetti

Sailor here.
Well, it was another good day. Mom took Bilgewater and me out for a spaghetti breakfast, but we didn’t eat spaghetti. I had fizzy water and Jib snorted some out his nose. And we made a new friend, too.
This morning, Mom hustled us both downstairs and out to pee. She let us back in and bustled around the kitchen, getting things out and putting things in and getting in my way because I was trying to smell what she was getting out and putting in. And because of all this getting and putting, she forgot to give Jib and me our usual breakfast. We had what Mom called an abbreviated breakfast.
Bah humbug.
Then she brushed us and shoved us in the car. That part was normal. She filled my big water bottle and fastened her seatbelt. That was normal, too. I thought we were going to a dog show.
Instead, we drove out to the Bay. Mom said we were at Bayfront Park.
“I hope she doesn’t take me swimming,” I thought and I sat in my crate a long time sniffing the air and the water and the bushes and the water and the Bay.
“Come on, Sailor,” Mom called, hanging on hard to Jib who was trying to chase a seagull.
I jumped out of the car and stood there, looking for a way out. But instead of putting on my swimming vest, Mom put my backpack on. Then she loaded up the pockets with spaghetti. She put water in Jib’s backpack and stuck a funny-looking hat on her head.
“We’re going on a picnic!” she told us excitedly.
“Oboy!” Jib barked. “I love picnics!” He turned to me. “What’s a picnic?”
“A picnic is where you eat on the ground,” I explained.
“So why is this different from dinner in the backyard?” Jibby asked.
I didn’t know the answer to that, so I quickly changed the subject. “Do you have the sauce?” I asked him. “I don’t have the sauce.”
“What sauce?” Jib asked. “I have the water.”
“Meat sauce, I hope,” I said. “For the spaghetti,” I added since Jib was looking a bit puzzled.
“Nope,” Jib said. “No meat sauce.”
“What about plain sauce?”
“Water,” Jib said. “I have the water. Maybe Mom has the sauce.”
I took a swift sniff of Mom’s backpack. No sauce. But I smelled something, a maybe something, a maybe something interesting, a maybe something…
Mom twirled out of reach and grabbed up our leashes and marched off, telling us how exciting this was going to be.
I failed to see how exciting that would be since clearly we were having spaghetti with no sauce.
Bah humbug.
We walked down a trail with holes alongside and I tried to sniff out who may have made the holes, but couldn’t find a scent I knew. Jib trotted on Mom’s other side, watching for something to chase.
We came down a small hill and there in front of us was the Bay. Mom said something about All That Mud, but it didn’t smell like All That Mud to me. It smelled like something Good To Roll In. I wondered if Mom would take off my pack and let me roll in it. She didn’t. She wouldn’t. And she wouldn’t let Jib, either.
A nice man joined Mom and took my leash because Jib is sometimes too hot to handle, even with a backpack full of water and an almost-grown-up brain. Mom said the man on the other end of my leash was John, but he didn’t smell like spaghetti sauce or cookies or anything exciting. He just smelled like, well, like John. And so I lost interest in his pockets.
We walked for a long time. A really long time. And we stopped for water, too. And we walked again. And finally the morning started to be exciting. A ground squirrel ran across the road making Jib jump around and bark. A pelican swooped over our heads, smelling like the I-Want-To-Roll-In-It mud. When we stopped for water, I got to smell other dogs who walked the trail before us and where shore birds had scratched in the gravel.
We spent another long time walking, and then we came to a grassy place with duck poop all over it. Now this was exciting. But Mom and John didn’t let us smell or snack or even walk near the poop. They took us over to a large flat bench and we all had to sit on that. I pretended I couldn’t jump up with my backpack on, but Jib leaped up and was getting all the butt scritches, so I made small face and jumped up for a butt-rub, too.
And then the sun came out and shined on us. And Mom opened her backpack and took out lunch. It wasn’t spaghetti. It wasn’t sauce. It was hot dogs! I love hot dogs!! She gave one to me and one to Jib and one to John and kept one for herself. Mine didn’t have a bun, but it also didn’t have mustard, and I ate it in about three nanoseconds. John passed a soda to Mom. Mom poured water for Jib and me. John slipped us some of his fizzy water into my bowl, which made my drink a bit exciting. Mom ate her hot dog right down. John ate his hot dog right down. I suppose Jibby ate his, too, because it was not there when I went to check. He eats faster than even I do.
Then Jib took a sniff of our water and snorted and jumped up and fizzy water came out his nose! He spent some time sneezing and rubbing his snout. I found this quite exciting!
Then, in mid-sneeze, Jib jumped up and woofed. Two yappy frizzy dogs came trotting by yapping and frizzing at us and choking at the ends of their leashes. Jib almost got sucked into Bark and Lunge Wars, but Mom said, “Look at that!” and he turned right around to look at her. (They have been practicing this for a long time and I don’t get it.) By the time Mom got through patting him Good Boy, the yappy frizzies were gone. And the fizzies in Jib’s nose were gone, too.
A small flock of seagulls flew low overhead looking for a handout. Mom’s hands were not out, so they gave up and flew out over the water. Jib sat and stood and sat and stood and couldn’t decide what to do. I lay down and put my nose in Mom’s rear pocket. Mom gave John a funny look before she realized it was my nose in her pocket and not John’s.
I dozed.
The next thing I knew, we had to scramble to our feet and go back up a new hill and down another trail back to the dog car. Jib and I hopped in. Mom hopped in. She waved. We drove.
And in the car crate, I smiled. This was a great morning. We saw exciting things, drank exciting water, and ate hot dogs for breakfast. And I came home with a backpack still full of spaghetti.
But no sauce.

Jib Here - Today I am Three!

Dear MamaMarla,

Thank you for my burfday present. It came in a big box yesterday. Mom brought it inside and opened it. She shrieked and danced and laughed.

Inside were my BRAINS! Mom read the destructions for installing them. She unzipped me behind the ears. She dropped my brains inside. She zipped me back up. Then she told me to shake my head.

I shook my whole body. Then I shook just my head. I heard a small rattle and then a loud CLICK.

And suddenly I could think! I could remember! I could come the first time Mom called. I could stop chewing everything in sight. And everything outta sight, too.

Mom gave me cookies. She had tears in her eyes.

Sailor didn't get any cookies.

I love Brain Day!

Love,
Jib

SCULPTED

Sailor here.

Mom loves the top of my head. She says it is soft and rounded and loves to rest her hand there. When she does this, I stand very still and pant. Mom wrote me a poem about the top of my head.

As I reach down to pat my dog’s head,

I marvel at what a perfect fit

Is his head to my palm.

The two meld together,

My yin to his yang.

I remember having similar thoughts

When my babies were born.

What a perfect fit,

Their little bodies meeting mine,

Nestled at my side.

It was as if they were sculpted before birth

To fit just so.

Now, with my hand on Sailor’s head,

I know better.

It is my body,

My hand

That was sculpted

Before time began

For such a fit.

I NEVER SAID GOODBYE

Sailor here.

Mom's friend is very sad today. Her dog went to the Rainbow Bridge while she was at work and she never got to say goodbye. What is goodbye?

Mom wrote a poem so I could remember.

You died today. And I was gone,

Away at work, away at play,

Inside the house, upstairs somewhere.

You died alone. I was not there.

I never said goodbye.

You lay down in your corner.

And sleeping in the shade,

You felt our love,

Though we weren't here.

You didn’t want our grief

To spoil Your Time to leave.

You slipped away into the light,

Comforted by bonds of love

That remain unbroken still,

Heart to heart between us.

You carried this love with you,

As you chose to go alone.

I never said goodbye.

But, what is one goodbye

When set against the thousands

Of hello’s that we have shared?

What is one goodbye?

It is for people, this goodbye, not for dogs.

Dogs don’t understand goodbye.

They know a pat, a kiss, a hug

As their loved one walks away.

Dogs don’t understand goodbye.

What they know is your return.

They know you will come back.

And so they wait with patience,

Napping in the sun

Until you walk back through the gate.

They know you will return.

Yes, dogs know hello.

They know the leaping bliss,

The joyous bark,

The happy kiss,

The ecstasy of greeting.

Oh yes, dogs know hello.

And what is one goodbye

When set against the thousands

Of hello’s that we have shared?

No, I never said goodbye.

You taught me well.

I had no need.

And when my time has come at last

To follow you into the light,

To meet you waiting at the Bridge,

My love, my heart, my perfect dog,

You will be the first that I shall seek.

Yours will be the first hello.